Going Home

Having spent another night here last night, I was more than ready to go home. "Going home" all of a sudden sounded so nice, like looking forward to a warm bath after a long day working, in a spa-styled bathtub--all by yourself.

Although the fires are still burning (and God only knows for how much longer,) we will be going home today. I'm sure we won't be able to walk around our neighborhood consuming clean air for the next few days, we are going home.

Home, sweet home. All of a sudden the idea of being stuck in our little condo all day is not so bad anymore. No computer? No problem. At least I get to watch our TV, lay on our couch, open our fridge, using our water, sit on our toilet. I can watch (and try to enjoy) Caleb dumping all his toys all over the oh-so-small living room, and Abby sitting in her Excersaucer while drooling all over her toys. I'm thankful to go home, a place I thought I would never see again.

Unfortunately, there are people out there who have lost everything. While I celebrate and count my blessings, I cannot and do not want to forget that for those people who have lost their homes, there would be no Holiday get-togethers this year, there would be no Christmas trees to decorate, and every memory that each person holds so dearly have been buried along with their home remains. While I am glad and happy that my two children have a home to return to, there are parents out there who cannot tell their children, "let's go home." Perhaps for a long, long time.

In the end, I have learned to enjoy everything that I have--even though they are small, even though there are no cash value to them. When I do walk in to our small home later today, I think I will pause a few seconds, and just be really grateful that the life Benny and I have built together for the past few years is simple, yet no money can ever buy, nothing can ever trade with.

The Morning After

Waking up at my dad's this morning, I longed to hear everything is ok by where we live. Thank God, even though the firestorms are still raging here in the South land, I think our home is going to be ok. Although, just five miles down, it's a different world.

Poor spider. It has lost its home, also.

I am sure it's worse where we live, since we are just a few miles away from those still burning fires. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. I think we'll be able to go home today.

This day has come

When I went to sleep last night, I didn't think that nearly 12 hours later, I would be fleeing our home with our two kids.

The fire has started to burn somewhere 1 1/2 hours away from us in the beginning. As another day has started out normal, I was thinking more about how fast time flew; it felt like it was just yesterday we picked up my in-laws from the airport, it was time for them to leave already.

Morning came and went by. The images on our not-so-clear TV were not getting any better from the devastation I saw of the fires burning throughout Southern California. The sky outside our windows was brown, the air that seeped in our little condo was unbearable. A part of me did not want to think about the possibility of leaving. Yet, another part was telling me it was time to pack.

It was around 2pm in the afternoon. Caleb slept so comfortably on his bed, as I began to lose my composure. I started thinking about our simple yet fulfilling life; it would be too heartbreaking to leave our nothing yet everything behind. As I continue to watch the news, I also started putting clothes in a carry-on bag.

What to bring? If I began to think about all the "maybe-I-should-brings," I would not be able to leave. I never thought in my lifetime, I would have to decide what are the most important things to me--in 10 minutes or less. Still absent-minded, I put away Caleb's blankie, diapers, his milk, Abby's clothes for 2 days, and our important documents.

Driving to my dad's house in our Explorer, I still could not believe we were actually "fleeing." But as I regained my ability to reason, I realized inside the car at this moment, my life and everything are present--my husband, my two kids, and some junk we packed up. And then there is my Hope, high up in heaven. I know even if we have lost everything in our little condo, I would not lose my hope.

At this moment, I have no idea how bad the fires could get--the last time I heard, a few neighborhoods just 5 miles away were being evacuated. By tomorrow night, I could really be back on our big bed, or I could be looking for a place to live. Either way, I am very thankful at this moment that I am sitting in my sister's room, using her computer.

As the fires continue to burn here, I am learning that I should be counting my blessings. At least my two children are safe and sound here, not too far away from our home, in their papa's house.